I was at home when my husband recently called from out in the world. He was at a gas station and had just discovered a lonely Master Card, on the ground, next to the pump. Rather than suggesting I quickly book us a Lost-themed Hawaiian vacation or buy a fat gift certificate to Circuit City, he wanted me to do a little detective work to return the card to its owner. “Sweet!…Oh…OK…Why don’t you just leave it with the attendant?” He is good. I’m glad he hadn’t read my mind.
There was no immediate listing for Elizabeth Kaden (name changed to protect the unawares). Google brought up a few misspellings, someone on Facebook, someone in Kansas, and finally:
Liz Kaden is a graduate of the Barbara Brennan School of Healing, an intuitive sound healer and performance artist…
As it turns out, Miss Kaden is, among other titles, a performance artist and sexual healer. According to her website, she is “deeply passionate and committed to helping others explore and expand their own unique creative essence”, and believes that “self-expression through healthy sexuality and creativity can be the key to greater liberation and fulfillment in life”. She is currently living in San Francisco and is exploring her own life as both a healer and artist.
From this page Miss Kaden sells her “Sacred Sexuality Essence”. With only twenty drops under the tongue daily, the tincture claims to clear negative thoughts about sexuality, eliminate chaos and untangle the co-dependent. Using simple ingredients such as: essence of hand-picked wisteria, “conscious sexual healing energy, spring water, brandy (to preserve) and love”, for $15, plus $5 shipping and handling, Liz will send you a bottle, quantity unspecified.
I have so many questions. How do you get conscious sexual healing energy into an eyedropper? Is the brandy there to preserve the energy or the love? Don’t people already do that? Whose wisteria is she picking? What is intuitive sound? Not to profile, but aren’t sexual healers/intuitive sound healers/singers/performance artists, exactly the demographic for who might lose their ATM card at a Berkeley 76 station?
Below two testimonials, a phone number is listed.
A few minutes later, she calls back. The voice is younger than I was expecting. She’s frazzled but grateful. This will come back to us. Good energy. In the middle of a move, running around today, could she drop by the house tomorrow, or possibly the next day? She’s got a lot on her plate what with work and the move. I volunteer to drop it in the mail, but she insists that she doesn’t want to be any trouble, but actually now that she’s thinking about it, could she maybe come on Monday evening instead?
A trusting sort. This would *never* happen in New York.
After a few more calls to reschedule and write down our address again, a meeting is finally arranged three days later. She would even bring us a bottle of sacred essence to thank us. She, a kindly, if unfocused Mother Nature. Me, freakin’ Mother Teresa.
We were surprised (one of us answered the door, the other was peeking through the blinds) when I opened to a pert young Cathy Rigby look-alike. A 20-something year-old blond with her blue Toyota station wagon still running out front. I’ll give her chaos, and possibly co-dependency, but what would she know about sexual disorder? Conveniently, all of her essence was in storage while she was moving, but she would definitely mail us a bottle whenever she gets organized… A few more thanks, and assurance that karma owed us one, but she had to dash.
After locking the deadbolt, I’m not sure which of us got out an “Uhnt uh!” first.
We have not heard from her since. I don’t expect to. That’s OK. That part’s the same.